With the Christmas holidays just a few days away, the excitement over the marriage law had dwindled among the younger students as they prepared to go home for the festivities. As well, those who were bound to the law were less stressed over that matter, or about last-minute projects and essays, as they, too, marveled at the idea of taking a break from school. Despite Headmistress McGonagall reminding them at every breakfast that the holidays started once they arrived to their respective houses, all students were still required to submit their homework on time, participate in their lessons, and practice proper dress decorum. Naturally, of course, no one paid McGonagall's words any heed.

As such, Professor Slughorn cleared his throat for the second time in an attempt to get his Seventh Years to stop their chattering amongst each other. As expected, Hermione Granger was the only one facing him, her hands on her lap as she frowned disapprovingly at all the noise, too.

"Did he say who it was, then?" Seamus inquired of Ron, slipping him a leg of his chocolate frog.

"No clue," said Ron. "Mum's making a big deal about it, though. She told us to wear dress robes."

Ginny frowned, pulling up from her seat to snatch the piece of chocolate out of her brother's hand. Ron cursed at her and Harry laughed along with Seamus. "I'm not getting into a dress for whoever's marrying George."

"Gin doesn't think anyone deserves George," Ron told Seamus, rolling his eyes. "She thinks we're the overprotective fools, but she didn't think Fleur was good enough for Bill, either. Almost tore Fleur's beautiful hair out one summer."

Before Ginny could find a way to maim Ron with the sliver of chocolate she had left, Professor Slughorn again cleared his throat, this time with his wand at the base of his throat so the sound carried throughout the potions dungeon. 

"Excellent," he said, grinning at the faces now turned in his direction. "We'll go over your last exams before we are let out."

Ron groaned, sinking further into his chair when Slughorn materialized a stack of paper in front of his desk. 

"I'll be reading your marks out loud," Slughorn informed, ignoring the loud chorus of misery and indignation from his students. "Now, now," he continued, "don't take this to heart. You should not be ashamed of your marks—although, for that one person who received a T, please see me at the end to discuss your future endeavors in this class as well as out."

"Bet you a sickle you got that T, Weasley," said Seamus, smirking despite rubbing off the last bit of evidence of his newest explosion. "You or Goyle, that is."

As laughter broke out among those nearest to the Gryffindors, Hermione frowned. "I highly doubt that. I tutored Goyle last week. He actually caught on quite quickly. Besides, Goyle isn't in our class."

"Oh, you tutored Goyle, did you?" repeated Ginny, a smirk now in place that caused Hermione to turn a violent shade of pink. "Anyone else slithering in for some one-on-one time with the Brightest Witch of the Age?"

Harry and Ron made noises of compliant at Ginny's poorly covered innuendo. "Please," said her betrothed, "we are about to have dinner, Gin. I'd like not to be sick before we do."

Ginny scoffed at the two. Across from them, Seamus turned away, laughing to himself, but not daft enough to get mixed up in their family squabbles. 

"If Hermione fancies Malfoy—"

"I don't fancy him!

"—then we should be supportive," Ginny continued, ignoring Hermione's contradiction. "Can you imagine how conflicted she must be feeling? Liking the same bloke who she has hated for years? Of course, he's hated her just as long. Still, I agree with Zabini when he says there's a fine line between hate and a passionate shag."

"Lavender Brown, A," Slughorn said happily through the mutterings of his students, the exam flying over to its owner. His voice cut through Hermione's hands shaking and incoherent attempts at a reply to Ginny's allegations. "Parvati Patil, E. Seamus Finnegan, P. My poor boy, you must really find a way to stop setting fire to your potions. You nearly produced a good Draught of Living Death before it went up in flames."

Seamus flushed red, turning to look back at his fellow Gryffindors. "I burnt it on purpose, actually," he whispered. "It definitely wasn't the draught of anything after I accidentally added the lacewing flies. I'd just assume he'd take pity on me if I destroyed it."

"It's not a bad thing, you know?" Hermione looked at Ron, who was seated beside her. He was playing with the contents inside his cauldron, something that appeared too slimy and too thick to be the Veritaserum they were instructed to make. "Fancying Malfoy."

Hermione blinked over at Harry and Ginny's direction; they were looking through Seamus' exam. "I don't fancy him, Ronald."

Ron muffled a snort. "Right. But let's say you do; I'm just saying, there's nothing wrong with it. Well, no, actually there is, I hate that little ferret, but I just mean...maybe the sorting hat got it right. And you can't argue with that hat, can you?"

"Are you saying," Hermione whispered, inching closer to her friend, "that you think you belong with Parkinson?"

"Dunno," he told her, his ears growing pink. "I mean, I don't know about the whole soul mates thing the Ministry is trying to pass off, you know? Make this whole marriage law easier on us by saying they're who we belong with. I'm just saying...Pans' pretty great."

Hermione smiled. "Oh, is she now? Tell me all about Pans, then."

"Harry, m'boy, E," Slughorn announced in a proud, loud voice. The grin on his face let his students know he thought Harry's mark was all due to Slughorn's own wits and talents as Potions master. "Well done, Harry. Well done. Mr. Weasley, A. Good work on describing the properties of Veritaserum."

Hermione's previous amusement with Ron vanished. "Did you copy from my exam?" she demanded. "You don't know a thing about the properties of—"

"Miss Granger, O!" said Slughorn, sending Hermione's exam over with a happy flourish of his thick wrist. "Well deserved—and hardly a surprise, if I may say. Thorough knowledge of every potion presented. You did the best out of all Seventh Years. Of course, I should say, Mr. Malfoy only found himself a point behind your score. Very clever, both of you."

Before she could blush a pink shade that could further fuel Ginny to make comments about her and Draco, Hermione was relieved when the dungeon door opened. Pansy Parkinson poked her head in, a glare across her lilac-painted eyes. 

"Professor," she hissed, "can we come in now? Peeves is outside with a cauldron full of bubble juice. If a drop so much as touches my hair, sir, we are about to see me murder someone who is already dead."

Slughorn, it seemed, believed her capable of it. He motioned her in immediately, earning himself a noise of approval from Pansy as she glided into the classroom. Behind her, a group of Slytherins and Ravenclaws entered, too. 

"Potter," said Pansy as she reached their table. "That's my seat."

Harry raised a brow at the Slytherin, but caught a glimpse of Ron's giant grin. He started clearing the workspace around them, no doubt making space for Pansy to set her things down. 

"Yeah, all right, then," Harry grumbled, rolling his eyes. As he stood, he said to Ginny, "Those two, passionate shag indeed."

"Got an O, I see," a voice said near Hermione's ear, almost knocking her out of her seat. Draco was quick to put a hand on the small of her back, steadying her. "I bet I beat you. I know I did really well on the exam."

Hermione folded her test, stuffing it into her textbook. "I wouldn't count on it, Malfoy."

"If you're almost as smart as Granger is—which is, I'd reckon, terrifyingly smart, but still dumber than her, does that mean your future children will be regular geniuses?" asked Blaise as he dragged two stools from another workspace for him and Cho. "Does it cancel out, or are they going to burst out with giant brains intent on taking over the world?"

"Good question, Zabini," said Ginny, grinning again. "Malfoy, Hermione, please present your theories on this. We would all very much like to hear you discuss your children."

Harry managed to block a spoon Hermione threw at Ginny before it actually hit her. The latter, of course, laughed, winking once at Hermione and Malfoy before turning back to Slughorn. 

"As you all know," he said, "today's our last day of lessons before departing to our homes. Before the Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs clear out, however, Headmistress McGonagall has asked me to inform you that there will be no Marriage and Family Life session this evening. As such, she would also like me to remind you that the deadlines for your wedding dates should be owled to her in four days. A copy, of course, must also be sent to the Ministry."

"What if we don't set a date?"

"Well, Miss Granger, you know—" Professor Slughorn paused, one brow raised as Hermione stared back at him with a bewildered look. The question had not come from her. Instead, at a workspace tucked to the furthest end of the potions room, Luna Lovegood was slowly pulling her hand back down. 

Slughorn cleared his throat, casting his look of confusion at Dean Thomas. He was sitting beside Neville and Hannah, both of whom seemed intent on not looking at him. "Miss Lovegood," he said, "I'm sure you know if failed to receive a date, the Ministry will assign you one of their choosing. As you may well also be aware of, every couple has a year to be wed."

"No exceptions," muttered Luna. "I know." 

"Luna, if you just—"

By her swift, sharp movement to stand, Luna's stool fell back, creating a loud ringing throughout the dungeon. She gathered her schoolbag and hurried out of the room before Dean could finish his sentence. 

The Seventh Years broke out into excited whispers, looking back and forth between Dean and the empty trail Luna had left behind. 

"And I thought you were the worst," Seamus muttered to Lavender, who was sat at a nearby workspace. He did not notice her wince at the grin that accompanied his comment. "I mean, you did throw a mini-fridge at—"

"Shut up, Seamus," Lavender huffed as she, too, gathered her belongings.

"Are the girls in this castle just insane?" Seamus demanded, turning to Ginny and Hermione. "Do you lot come with a manual or something?"

Before Lavender left her stool, she kicked Seamus off of his. 

"I guess that's why you never made it to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, Mr. O'Malley," said Slughorn before clapping his hands together. "All right, Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs, out you go! Don't forget your essay on the Blood-Replenishing Potion due upon your return in a few weeks." 

"Luna still hasn't told you what's wrong?" Harry asked Ginny as they all started to collect their things, too. "Or Neville?"

"He promised her he wouldn't say anything," she told him. "Look, I want to know just as much as you do, but I'm not going to force it out of Luna, either. If she needs me, she knows where I am. If she doesn't, well, I'm still making sure I'm never too out of reach for her."

Harry did not seem too satisfied with Ginny's response. His emerald eyes started to narrow at the back of Dean's head; for the first time since his Sixth Year, back when a raging, ugly monster at the pit of his belly told him to hit Dean with a beater's bat, did Harry think that might be the only way to settle the anger he was feeling toward him. 

Knowing him well enough, Ginny put an arm around his waist, pulling him against her. She leaned in, whispering something into his ear as they made their way out. 

"I've got a free period next," Ron said to Pansy, pressing a kiss to her cheek. "I'll come back when you're out and we can go to the Great Hall together."

Hermione turned away before the Slytherin tried to mask her blush at Ron's words. She picked up her bag, slinging it around her shoulder as she mumbled a goodbye to Draco. He looked like he wanted to say something else, but she pulled Ron by the hand, accepting a few last holiday greetings from Professor Slughorn on the way out. 

It had been a week since she kissed Draco, and Hermione was still finding it difficult to string a coherent sentence together in front of him. She was not too sure why she had done it; she knew people were making wagers when it would occur, and to spite them, Hermione had vowed never to do so until it was necessary—like on the day of their wedding when it would be demanded from both of them. Of course, Fate had plans of her own, ones that completely disregarded whatever Hermione wanted.

That is not to say that Hermione did not want to kiss Draco Malfoy. Because she did. 

Or, rather, she had not known she wanted to. 

He, of course, was acting like it had not happened at all. Naturally, that annoyed Hermione more than having unexpectedly kissed him just outside the greenhouses. She'd told Ginny after the third day, after Draco left their chamber with nothing but a pat against her back and a fleeting see you later, Granger.

Telling Ginny had been worse than kissing Draco. Not only did it make the kiss real, but it propelled her friend into thinking Hermione needed constant reminders ("sweet, friendly nudges, 'Mione, that's all") that it was perfectly fine for her to fancy the Slytherin.

But Hermione Granger did not fancy Draco Malfoy.

"Hey, Granger!"

The same way as when his mouth had hovered over her ear, Hermione felt her skin ignite at the sound of Draco's voice. For a moment she thought she was imagining it, but the sounds of footsteps against the corridor floor made her turn to look over her shoulder. 

Ron gave a laugh before walking off, leaving Hermione alone in the corridor with her betrothed.

"You forgot your textbook," Draco told her as he raised her book. "I got a glimpse of your exam. You got lucky by a point."

"There's no luck, Malfoy, only wit," she said with a half-smile. "You could've given it to me at home, you know?"

"I know you like to do your homework as soon as the lesson's finished," Draco said, not particularly hiding his smirk. When she started to take it from his hand, he added, "I may have also seen an invitation to the Weasleys' for Christmas stuffed among the pages."

Hermione used the textbook to hit Draco across his chest. He let out a laugh, but kept his smirk perfectly in place. 

"I was just curious," he said. "I assumed you'd be seeing your parents, that's all."

"That was the plan, but they decided to go skiing. A muggle thing," she added, waving off the matter before Draco could question her. "I'm not particularly good at it, so I wasn't upset. Besides, George Weasley is introducing his betrothed to the family. I'm more excited about that, to be honest."

Draco's amusement withered around the edges. He knew Hermione was essentially an extended member of the Weasley family, but the thought tasted almost bitter to him. Years ago, he would be able to make jokes at her expense about how much that might mean to her, given that everyone in the castle knew how much she fancied Ron Weasley. Now, it was not as funny.

"Maybe I'll send you an owl," he found himself saying before he could comprehend the meaning behind the words. "To discuss dates, I mean."

Hermione nodded, her eyes slowly drifting to her feet. "Okay," she breathed, willing herself to look back at Draco, "I'll see you at dinner—or at home. You don't have to sit at the Gryffindor table again, of course. Just that if you did want to, I'll save you a—"

The poor recovery Hermione was trying to make of her self-confidence was interrupted by Draco swallowing her words. Her eyes widened when his lips touched hers, but like the time by the greenhouses, they quickly fluttered closed as one of his hands went to her waist, bringing her closer to him. 

Okay, maybe Hermione Granger did fancy Draco Malfoy.

.

XX

Harry Potter had seen Mrs. Weasley fret about the Burrow many times throughout the years: for Christmas gatherings, Easter brunches, birthdays, and Bill and Fleur's wedding, but nothing quite like this. Since he, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny had arrived the day before, they heard Mrs. Weasley more than they physically saw her. She had been yelling, of course; shrill commands of things that needed to be cleaned, food Ron shouldn't dare to eat, or reminders of what no one should bring up during their highly anticipated visit.

"You mean, I can't tell her George used to wet the bed?" said Ginny, smirking. "Or how you found some questionable PlayWizard magazines in his trunk the summer of his Fifth Year?"

Harry was hardly surprised when a slipper went zooming in Ginny's direction. 

He was also becoming a little more hesitant in telling Mrs. Weasley about his and Ginny's wedding date now. Of course, it was fast approaching, seeing as they had settled on New Year's Day, but he saw what lengths Mrs. Weasley was going to just to meet George's betrothed. He did not wish to inconvenience her any further—or, for that matter, continue to frustrate the family as Mrs. Weasley rampaged through the Burrow with all the cleaning spells in her arsenal. 

"We sort of have to tell her," Ginny told him with a laugh, pressing a kiss on his cheek as they fluffed all the throw pillows on the couch for the third time that evening. "Or we don't. We can always just go to the Ministry and have someone bloke marry us. We'll come back and surprise the family."

"You'd do that?"

"Of course I would," she said, giving him a funny look. "Actually, I've been thinking about it since we set the date. You don't do well in crowds, do you? And they place too much importance on the brides, I think. It matters what both parties want—"

"Three, if you consider the upcoming Nott-Vane-Harper wedding," Hermione mentioned as she came into the living room, her wand setting a tea set and a tray of mince pies on the coffee table. 

"The only thing that matters," Ginny continued, poking Harry on the shoulder, "is me and you. That's all that has ever mattered to me, anyway. So if you want to forgo the traditional wedding, I'm okay with that."

Harry felt his chest swell up with the love he felt for Ginny. For a second, he hated himself for having wasted years looking the opposite way of her. If he had just turned, if he had just looked into her kind, beautiful brown eyes, Harry would have seen all that was waiting for him at her side. 

But he did look. Maybe it had not happened sooner, but it happened when it needed to. 

He took her hand, bringing it up to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss against her knuckles. "I'd brave any crowd for you, Ginny. And I want to, you know—have the proper ceremony, photos and cake and all that. There was a time I never thought I'd get to live long enough to make it down the aisle. Now I get to, with you."

Ginny threw her arms around Harry's neck, tears glittering in her eyes as she kissed him. 

"Oi, enough of that," hissed Ron as he plopped himself down on one of the armchairs. He took a mince pie off the tray, ignoring Hermione's immediate reprimand. "What'd I say about snogging in front of me?"

"What'd I say would happen to you if you kept telling me what to do?"

Mrs. Weasley entered the living room, her arms full with a second tray of pastries just as another hovered behind her. At her appearance, Ginny lowered her wand, glare still promising a threat of retaliation against Ron. 

"Mum," said Ron with a mouth full of pie, "Don't you think you're overdoing it a bit?"

Slapping his hand away before he could take one of the new baked goods, Mrs. Weasley hissed, "Wait until George and his betrothed get here, Ronald. You're not going to starve."

"I might!" he returned. "They're late!"

Ginny sat down on the couch with Harry carefully joining her. Mrs. Weasley, like her son, tended to turn red around the ears when she was angry; and Harry could definitely see them changing color. 

"George is late, Mum. He was supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"Half an hour ago is when you should've gone up and changed into a nice dress," Mrs. Weasley said, her finger pointed accusingly at her daughter. "How do you plan to meet the person your brother's supposed to marry in your nightgown?"

"You never fussed this much when we had to meet Fleur."

Mrs. Weasley's ears were definitely bright red now. Harry, however, did not know if it was due to growing anger or embarrassment at the reminder that she had not been welcoming to Fleur Delacour when Bill first introduced her to the Weasleys. 

"This is different," said Mrs. Weasley as she ran her hands down the material of her bright orange dress, smoothing out any wrinkles she might have created from the kitchen to the living room. "You haven't seen George, but he's doing much better. I thought this whole marriage law business was going to—he's just doing better. He's laughing again."

A fragile silence settled among them. Harry had to look away, hands balling into fists, but next to him, Ginny let out a breath. She did not break the moment, but instead gave her mother a firm nod and made her way upstairs. 

Ron took the opportunity to steal a scone from the tray. "Mum," he said carefully, "I want you to meet Pansy Parkinson."

With her right hand patting dry the tears that had splashed onto her cheeks, Mrs. Weasley offered her youngest son a smile. "You do, do you?"

"Ron really likes her, Mrs. Weasley," Hermione informed with a grin as she sat down next to Harry. She reached for his hands, forcing his fingers to unclench from the angry, guilt-ridden fists he was making. 

For a moment, Mrs. Weasley did not seem too happy with the news. When Arthur had told her about this Restoration and Magical Retention Act the Ministry was going to pass, she was absolutely certain she would be getting owls informing her of Ginny and Harry's upcoming union, as well as Ron and Hermione's. Naturally, she had been shocked when Hermione's name did not come attached to his. Mrs. Weasley thought there had been a mistake, but Arthur, Ginny, and even Bill had thought it made perfect sense they were not sorted together. 

Ron's been a complete arse, Ginny had written in a letter. He broke up with Hermione weeks ago. You couldn't expect her to wait for him forever, could you? She's not responsible for his mess, Mum. And even if she wanted to be, Ron closed that door. If he opens it again, I think it'll be for someone else. 

"You just tell me when, Ronnie," Mrs. Weasley said, widening her smile. "I'll make a nice brunch for her. Would you like that?"

"Yeah. And we can talk wedding plans, seeing as Pans and I already choose a date."

Hermione let out a gasp; her hand, which was still holding Harry's, extended out at Ron's direction. "When did this happen?"

Ron laughed at her reaction. "We decided a few days ago, actually. We're thinking in the middle of April."

"Nice of you to tells us!"

"Come off it," Ron snorted, still grinning. "You and Harry will be my best men, won't you?"

Hermione's eyes welled with tears and Harry barely managed a smile when Mrs. Weasley let out a loud shriek. "He's here!"

Sure enough, on that magical clock of hers, George Weasley's hand now pointed to HOME.

Again, Harry felt his palms balling into fists as he lingered on the clock. There were eight hands now. When he had first seen it, all those years ago when Ron and his brothers had rescued him from the Dursleys the summer when he was twelve, there used to be nine hands. 

The Weasley family used to be whole. Then Harry Potter crossed their path and his fate took one of their own. 

Harry's fate doomed Fred Weasley.

"I'm all up for dramatics on any given occasion, but you'd think one of you would have the decency to get the door when guests come knocking?"

Mrs. Weasley let out another scream; this one, of course, was filled with happiness. She launched herself at George, who had just appeared in the living room with a grin that seemed like it did not quite fit the same way it used to.

"Mum," George started with a cheeky reprimand, "Did you hold up a bakery? There are more pastries in here than at Madam Puddifoot's."

"Georgie," Mrs. Weasley cried again, squeezing her son tighter. "I haven't seen you in weeks."

"I saw you three days ago, woman," he laughed, patting her back as he looked up at Ron, Harry, and Hermione. "All right there, Golden Trio?"

Ron and Hermione stood from their seats, smiling back, but Harry seemed to be the only one who saw through George's mischievous grin. How could he not? Harry had long become an expert in disguising the truth with a smile or a joke. He knew what it was like to hide every flicker of pain, every ache when in the presence of loved ones. It was all for them, this show. It was all to reassure them that every single step, every draw of air did not feel like it could possibly be the last. 

Harry could not imagine what George was hiding as he tried to free himself from his mother's embrace. The Burrow was drowning in his childhood; it was brimming with George's memories of being a twin. Adventures, accidents, experiments, pranks—all of it alongside Fred. If they let silence settle, they could hear the walls of the Burrow echo out Fred and George's laughter.

"Look at you, Ronniekins!" George exclaimed as he forced Ron into a rough hug. "You're getting taller every day, lad! Keep it up and we'll have trouble convincing the Ministry you're not an unregistered half-giant!" 

Ron shoved him, grumbling a curse under his breath, but his eyes glittered the same happiness Mrs. Weasley had been displaying.

"Hermione," George then called, letting her wrap arms around his neck, squeezing just as fiercely as his mother had done. "Can't believe you're still alive! Heard from Kingsley you got engaged to Malfoy. I couldn't believe it, mate. I'm sure ol' Lucius is thrilled. I mean, a Muggle-Born taking his family's name? Do make sure to rob him of his pureblood fortune before inevitably murdering him—"

"George!"

Two distinct voices had shouted out the name in reprimand, but only one hand had smacked him upside the head. 

Silence once again fell across the living room. All eyes turned to the woman who had walked out from the kitchen to stand next to George. 

Before the walls awoke with the sounds of old memories, Harry saw Ginny stomping down the staircase, frowning at herself.

"Mum," she called as she tried to adjust the pale-pink, ruffled, monstrosity of a dress her Auntie Muriel had sent her for a birthday one year. "This is all I found. If this new bint doesn't like it, well, I'm going to take it off and strangle her with—"

Ginny joined in the stunned silence. She looked from George to the woman standing next to him, to Mrs. Weasley and Ron, to Harry and Hermione. Then, with a loud, happy, incredulous laugh, she peeled the dress off, revealing her nightgown still underneath. 

"Good thing it's you, Angelina," said Ginny, grinning wide, "I was scared we'd have another excess of Phlegm around here."